Page 50 of Forever Zara

When Zara took a staggering breath, it was to see Rider’s slow grin. He loved her, and it was there for all to see.

“With this ring, I vow to love and protect you, to be at your side throughout the ups and downs of our life, with a loyalty that will never be broken. But most of all, my handsome biker-man, I promise to love you crazily, deeply, and forever with all my heart until the end of time.”

The fairytale dream wedding continued when they were pronounced married, and he swooped in, cool as only Rider could look, and they kissed. It was soft, closed-lipped, and so epic, she was smiling when they parted. But then she blushed with a laugh because everyone was on their feet, hooting, hollering, and whistling.

The ring leaders being the Renegade Souls. Those guys, she grinned.

“Finally, Ri!” One yelled.

“Got your girl up the aisle at last.” Another hollered.

Zara laughed, burying her face in Rider’s shoulder, his hand coming to the back of her neck.

Finally, she thought.

Yeah, that felt nice.

* * *

Capone hated weddings.

They went on too long.

Making him itchy.

He wasn’t against long-term commitments.

He was down to the bones happy for Rider and Zara. This day had been a long time coming for them both. They deserved this more than anyone else did after what they’d endured to be together.

But the whole symbolism of what a wedding comprised of didn’t sit well with him, and he was antsy to get it over with.

He’d bought them a gift.

Helped get Rider drunk for his bachelor party.

He’d even spit-polished the Prez’s Harley for later.

Capone had lost count of how many of these things he’d attended in the last decade. He turned up because he gave a shit about his club brothers and old ladies they chose. But he was the lone guy at these things who couldn’t wait until it was over so he could get out of there and breathe.

Love and soulmates didn’t exist.

Sure, he could see it with his own eyes when he looked at Rider and Zara. Or any of his other brothers who’d gotten hitched recently. Preacher, for example, was a changed man. The guy no longer trawled bars looking for a distraction to his PTSD. He’d got all the good he wanted at home with Ruby and their kids. If he looked around the fancy hotel right now, his eyes would see varying versions of the same love on many faces.

What he meant was that shit didn’t exist for him.

Love and soulmates soured a man when he watched a woman he had a connection with saying her wedding vows to someone else.

Kinda made him jaded as fuck and bitter toward love. Making him wonder if it existed or people were pretending.

Make-believe was a real mindfuck.

You think something long enough it becomes real.

It’s torture.

And no man here knew more about internal torture than Capone did.

That was a crux for him to bear, and only the Holy Mother Magdalene knew why.

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